The Distant Garden
The orchid was dying in the center of the room, its petals shriveling into dark, brittle husks that curled inward like the fingers of a hand grasping at something it could no longer hold, while Professor Arthur Vane stood motionless before the velvet curtain, his breath shallow and ragged as he watched the dust motes dance in the shafts of grey light that pierced the high, arched windows of the...
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